How a Malfoy Stole Christmas
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: Draco Malfoy hated Christmas and everything about it. He hated presents, trees, greenery and bows. He hated the songs, even when they were sung by his pretty next door neighbor. He bet he could make her hate Christmas too, if given half a chance.
1. Chapter 1

**All characters and canon situations belong to JK Rowlings and I make no money from the writing and publishing of this or any other stories. On the other hand, this story is from _my own_, and not plagiarised. Too bad others can't say the same thing.**

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**How a Malfoy Stole Christmas**

**By**

**AnneM**

_**("Love Actually" Christmas Challenge for Granger Enchanted" 2010 – prompt **- **"All I want for Christmas is you," he whispered and pulled her close. But it was an impossible dream, a match made in hell for everyone but the lovers.)**_

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Summary: Draco Malfoy hated Christmas. He hated Christmas wreaths, bows, greenery and garland. He hated presents, sentimental Christmas movies, and even Christmas sweets. Most of all, he hated Christmas songs, even when they were being sung by his next-door neighbor, Hermione Granger. He told her that he hated Christmas, and that there wasn't a single thing she could do to change that.

She was going to try, because she claimed to love Christmas, and everything about it. However, not even her breathtaking smile or her lilting laughter could make him change his mind about Christmas - in fact, he's going to do everything in his power to make her change her feelings on the subject! He's going to do his best to ruin Christmas for her, and he probably wouldn't even have to try very hard.

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**One –**

"Stop that racket over there!" Draco Malfoy pounded on the wall that connected his townhouse to the one next door and he shouted at the top of his lungs for the umpteenth time that day.

All day long, there was excessive, infernal noise coming from his next door neighbor's house and he was close to going mad! First, there was banging. The banging actually started at HIS house, but then it moved over to her house. Then there was general laughing and noise that comes from having fun. That was because his neighbor's friends were there, also making noise!

After the banging, and the laughing and the general noise that comes from having fun, there was some scuffling about, but now, now, the sound was almost unbearable! There was SINGING coming from next door. Singing. He hated singing. In his opinion, the only time someone should sing was if he or she were in the shower or in Hell, one or the other.

If he heard one more _'Fa, la, la, la, la, la'_ or one more, '_We wish you a Merry Christmas' _he would pull out his wand and Avada the whole lot of them!

He placed his hands over his ears, looked down at his Siamese cat, Draco Malfoy the Second, (Draco usually called him 'Number Two') and said, "It's not really murder if one kills to keep ones sanity is it?" The cat didn't answer, being that he was a cat, but he did give him a look of total agreement, so Draco walked back over to the wall, banged on it again, and yelled, "Stop that bloody singing or I'm not responsible for my actions!"

From the house next door he heard, _"Jingle all the way…"_

Since he wasn't in the shower, there was only one conclusion to make. He was in Hell, that's where he was…Hell.

The noise, in one fashion or another, had been going on for over two hours now. He hated the noise almost as much as he hated the reason for it – Christmas!

He hated everything about Christmas. He hated Christmas trees, wreaths, greenery and bows. He hated mistletoe and holly berries. He hated chestnuts, fruitcakes, snow and candy. He hated games and toys, fat men dressed in bright red suits, Christmas cards, songs, stories and sentimental Christmas movies full of rubbish and false maudlin crap.

In addition, most of all, he hated Christmas carols. He hated traditional ones that told of a baby in a manger. What was a manger anyway? Moreover, who was King Wenceslas, what made him so bloody good, and what was the Feast of Stephen? Whoever heard of giving someone a partridge in a pear tree? Who wanted their halls decked with boughs of holly? None of them made any sense at all.

Moreover, the modern songs were more horrid than the old ones! Jingle bell rock, mommy kissing Santa Claus, and Merlin help him, he even heard one about a grandmother being 'run over' by a reindeer. They were ridiculous and he hated every, last one of them!

Now he was being tortured by having to listen to them repeatedly all day long, which in his opinion, was the epitome of torture! Today, his next door neighbor, aka, the former bane of his existence, and the current star of his nightly dreams, was now running all amuck, decorating not only her house, but also his, and singing Christmas songs at the top of her lungs, all because she looked so damn appealing in a red cashmere scarf.

Let's explain.

Hermione Granger moved in next door to him last summer, on the 25th of July. It was a Tuesday. His house was a large three story townhouse in a swanky section of Muggle London. Imagine his surprise when she bought the house next to his. Not even next to his…attached to his. They shared a common wall. He was the left side, she was the right. He was downright taken aback when he saw her move in, because London was large, and even though the Muggle part was more her foray than his, he still felt slightly put out that she would impose herself on him like she did, even though she seemed as surprised by the whole thing as he did.

They met her first day. She walked over carrying a large bundle under her arm. Knocking on the door with one hand, she actually gasped when he opened the door. Draco, on the other hand, screamed like a little girl and slammed the door in her face. After he composed himself (two minutes or so later), he opened his door and said, "Damn, Granger, what are you doing here? I didn't know anyone knew where I lived."

"I live here too, well, next door. I just bought the house connected to yours," she explained. "And I think your paper has been delivered to my house for probably the last year, although they don't have your name, only your address, but still, I wanted to bring them over."

He promptly slammed the door in her face again.

He didn't see her again for several weeks. For the most part, she was a congenial, low maintenance neighbor. She didn't play loud music – not that it would matter, as he would put up a silencing charm if she did. She didn't have many visitors, not that he cared, as neither did he. She didn't bother him or make much fuss. In fact, he mostly forgot she was there.

They saw each other occasionally by their front doors. She would smile and say, "Hello," and he would nod and grunt hello back to her. Rarely would they meet in the alley behind their back gardens. She would usually be taking out her rubbish, and he would usually be searching for his cat. He would comment that she needed a house elf to do her manual labor. She would comment that he needed a dog, because it would come when called.

One time he came home late from a disastrous date, very pissed, (out of his mind really) and he accidentally Apparated into her back garden instead of his. She was lying on a blanket, late at night, staring at the stars.

She yelped in surprise when she saw him, then laughed when he told her that he thought he was at his home, then to his chagrin, she helped him to his house, even going so far as to help him up his stairs and into his bedroom. She made him hot coffee, pulled off his shoes, and when he lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, he felt her brush his bangs away from his forehead and heard her say, "Goodnight, Draco."

He thought that was rather sweet of her.

Nonetheless, for the most part, he forgot she was there.

That's not true, but he could dream it was. He thought about her quite often, and dreamt of her even more, especially after the drunken, mistaken, Apparition blunder. There was that time, late September, when she asked him if he would like it if she planted the rest of her mums in his window boxes. He didn't even know he had window boxes, and he didn't know what mums looked like, but he said yes.

Then he sat on the steps of his front stoop and watched as she climbed a short stepladder and she planted yellow, red and orange mums in the window boxes of his front windows, to match her window boxes. His cat joined him on the steps and watched as well.

She looked over and asked, "What's your cat's name?"

"Number Two."

She laughed, and when she laughed, he felt it down to his toes. A tingling feeling. It started around his chest area, where some people had a heart, it went throughout his nervous system, and shot down to his toes and out his body, into a million molecules and beyond. It was a lilting, lightweight, musical sound, and he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

"Don't laugh, you'll hurt his feelings," he teased, though he wanted her to laugh some more. "His real name is Draco Malfoy the Second."

She laughed some more. Good. He wanted to hear it again. "You are joking, right?" She turned slightly on the ladder and pointed her spade at him.

"Not at all, Granger. His name is Draco Malfoy the Second, I swear it upon my honor, and before you besmirch my honor, and say that I have no honor to swear upon, let me tell you that I do indeed have honor and no, I'm not lying."

She laughed some more. He could get used to this. Her eyes, really just a normal brown colour, lit up when she laughed and became brighter and sparkled. Her mouth tilted upwards, but then again, didn't everyone's mouth tilt upwards when they laughed? Still, hers tilted upwards and he wanted to kiss the corners. How insane was that?

"But to call him after yourself?" she waned. "And then, to nickname him 'The Second'? You, Draco Malfoy, have no vision. There's a whole host of names you could have called a handsome fellow like him, and you called him Draco Malfoy the Second."

"Yes, after the most handsome man alive," Draco said, partly because he really felt it was true, but also partly because he knew it would make her laugh again. It did.

Then the unthinkable happened – as she laughed at him, her arms started to flap, most unbecomingly, she dropped the spade, reached for the window box, the small stepladder tittered back and forth and she fell backwards.

Right into his arms. He wasn't even aware of springing from the steps, or of catching her.

They stared into each other's eyes and even as she licked her lips and he willed his breathing to slow down, she said, "Thank you," and he asked, "Are you okay," then she insisted, "You can put me down now," and he said, "Stupid ladder," and that was that.

But still, it was a moment that Draco wouldn't soon forget.

Because in that moment he realized that in the fifteen years that he had known Hermione Granger, (ever since she was a little girl) he had disliked her. He had also never, ever given a thought as to whether or not she was pretty or not. He knew she was smart. He always knew that. He always thought of her as the smartest, most irritating swot of his acquaintance, but never once, not in fifteen years, had he thought of her as pretty.

But Merlin's balls, she was. She was exceptionally pretty. Uncommonly, charmingly so. When did that happen?

Then, in November, after October's drunken Apparating incident, she knocked on his backdoor. He didn't even know he had a backdoor. He certainly had never used it before. He walked down the long hallway, past the front living room, past the room next to it that he used to watch Muggle telly in, his dining room, his kitchen, and past the back room that he used for storage and he opened the backdoor.

She stood out there with a cream coloured lightweight coat, a red hat upon her head, a red scarf dangling on her shoulders, jeans tucked into brown boots, and a slight smudge of something brown, (he could only hope it was dirt) upon her cheek, and he STILL found her beautiful. He asked, "What do you want?" in a fake, exasperated tone.

"Malfoy, how are you?"

He leaned against the doorjamb and said, "Did you get dressed in your best finery to come over and ask about my wellbeing?"

"I was working in my back garden," she explained.

"Don't you have hired help?" he asked. He leaned closer, placed his hand on her cheek, so that his fingers touched her jaw, and with his thumb he rubbed the brown dirt spot away. Then he grabbed the stupid red hat from her hair and flipped it against his leg and then threw it to the ground. Her hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders. She shook her hair and he stared at it, mesmerized. She was going to be the death of him.

She began to speak, but he didn't listen. He stared at her hair, soft, brown, with honey-coloured highlights, as it sprang in curls all over her head, and fell upon her shoulders, and down her back. Finally she asked, "Is that okay with you?"

Had she been speaking to him all this time and he not noticed, because he was staring at her hair, and fantasying how soft it might be, and the way it might feel against his chest if they were upstairs in his bedroom, on the bed, under the sheets…

"Okay, so I'll take your silence as a yes," she ended. She started to walk away.

"Granger!" he snapped. "Get your arse back here!" What had his fantasies caused him to agree to this time? "I didn't hear you, repeat yourself, now." He snapped his finger and pointed at her.

Then she laughed. Why did she have to laugh? Her laughter usually did him in right away. "I said that the fence between our back gardens is rotting away and I want your permission to build a new one. I'll have all the work done, and don't worry, I won't do it myself, but I'd like you to share the expense. Is that okay?"

"There's a fence between our lots?" he asked. He looked beyond her shoulder and noticed a broken-down wooden, slat fence that was indeed falling down, between her backyard and his. He straightened up and said, "I don't want to know the details, just have it done, and give me the bill. I'll pay for the whole thing." He turned to go, but she reached out for his arm to stop him.

He looked at the hand on his arm. He turned slowly. Her bare hand on his bare arm was almost more than he could **bear.** Her touch was so warm and even affectionate. He was the complete opposite – cold, bitter, unfeeling. Knowing when he turned around that he would see her smile, made him almost want to knock her hand off his arm, run away, and slam the door in her face. Ignoring that instinct, he turned slowly, to keep her hand on his arm, and the first thing he noticed was her smile. He knew it.

That smile knocked his socks off – Gads – she was literally, yes, literally, breathtaking. Her nose was slightly red from the cold, and so were her cheeks. She had only a lightweight jacket on, and a red scarf, which wasn't even wrapped around her neck. It was merely hanging loosely. What purpose did a scarf serve her if it wasn't securely around her neck?

He stepped over his threshold and said, "It's cold out here, Granger. You'll catch your death." Looking down, he noticed that she was so much smaller than he was. She was the type of woman that a man wanted to tuck under his arm when they walked down the street. The type of woman who would fit nicely in his arms on the sofa when they watched telly at night. The type of woman who would fit nicely under him, or on top of him, or beside him, or anywhere for that matter, when they made love at night, or in the morning, or in the afternoon.

He could only imagine that her body was glorious. As he wrapped the soft cashmere scarf around her neck, he could smell a rose scent about her, and he could see that she was slim but fit, and when his hands touched her hair he found that it was as soft as he imagined. Was the rest of her as he imagined as well?

His groined tightened as he tied the scarf together, and then his mouth dried as he tucked the ends in her jumper, and then staring into her warm, brown eyes, they seemed to dance with delight, and he realized she was speaking to him again, quite animatedly, but he couldn't hear her, because he was staring at her too intently.

He heard bits and phrases of her speech…something about her favourite time of the year…something about this being her first home and her first Christmas alone, but that was all he heard. At the end of her tirade she seemed so happy that she stood on tiptoes, placed her hands on his shoulders, kissed his cheek and said, "You won't regret it, Malfoy. Just wait until December. It'll be wonderful, I promise! And I'll send you the bill for the fence as soon as it's done."

At the time, he had no clue as to what he agreed to besides the fence, nor did he care. When the new fence went up, he was pleased. It accompanied a newly landscaped back garden and patio area, complete with an outdoor fireplace.

Then, a little over two hours ago, she knocked on his front door and said, "It's almost Christmas."

He frowned. No it wasn't. It was December 1st. How was December the first even remotely ALMOST CHRISTMAS? Before he could dispute her inane statement she asked, "Do you want us to have all white lights on our houses, or multicolored?"

"What?" he asked confused. Why was she asking him about lights and such?

She stepped inside, uninvited, said hello to his cat, and then opened a brown paper bag and took out a large, green wreath with a larger red bow. It wasn't even real. She said, "This is what I got for your front door. Mine is similar. I got greenery for all the windows, and for the scrollwork railings down the front steps. Now, I thought it would look somewhat neat if you would place your tree in the far left window, and I place mine in the far right. That would be more symmetrical, don't you agree?"

"What?" Then everything she was saying crashed down upon him. He was such an idiot. All of this was because he didn't listen to her last month, because he thought she was pretty, and because she had on a red, cashmere scarf.

Without prelude he knocked the fake wreath from her hands and yelled, "I HATE CHRISTMAS!"

"No one hates Christmas, Malfoy. Now don't fear a thing. I'll do all the work. My friends are coming by to help. If you decide you want to help as well, come by later, okay?" she said with her pretty smile. She laughed with her beautiful laugh, picked up the wreath, walked toward his door, swinging her full, pretty hips, and she started to sing, "_Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la."_

Draco Malfoy was in Hell.

And he did **too** hate Christmas, so there, Hermione Granger.

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_(Of course, I wasn't going to post anymore stories on this site, but I decided to end the year with my two Christmas stories. I only hope the latest thief, Yasu09, doesn't steal this or any of my other stories from now on. She stole "Arrogance and Ignorance" and "A Kind and Generous Man" and the site, Indian Forums, probably wouldn't have taken 'my' stories down if the Administrator of Granger Enchanted hadn't written to them on my behalf. If anyone else ever sees one of my stories on another site, (or this site, for that matter) without giving me credit as the author, please let me know. Thanks to Sarah for letting me know about this last plagiarism debacle. _

_By the way, this story is short - only three parts. Second part will be posted tomorrow.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Two –**

Draco sat alone in his house,

To ponder the reasons,

Why he so very much hated,

This holiday season.

Perhaps he hated it because,

Of the cold and the snow.

Perhaps it was because,

Of the tinsel and bows!

X

Perhaps his hatred came,

From when he was a child,

And his fear of Father Christmas,

(Actually, fear was putting it mild)

Perhaps his hatred was inborn,

Instead of something that was taught,

On the other hand, perhaps there's no reason for it,

Best not to make it something that it's not.

X

Yet he couldn't discount,

Or disregard what was true,

Which was that the recent merrymaking,

Was making him feel blue.

Everyday brought about a little bit more,

Be it with a new piece of decoration,

Like a wreath on his door,

Or mistletoe hanging high above his head,

And lights on a tree flashing blue, green and red.

X

Everything around him made him unhappy and sad,

One might even say he was resentful and mad.

Even though he found Granger's smile,

Soothingly sweet, & captivating,

Her loveliness could do nothing,

To waylay feelings of loathing and hating,

X

And what he hated more than the ribbons, stockings, and sweets,

The cakes, the eggnog, or the nutcracker suite,

Oh, for the love of…wait an effing minute…what the bloody hell!

Bollocks and dammit!

Now he even rhymed in his head like that Christmas cartoon she forced him to watch tonight!

He really did hate Christmas!

Hermione made him watch a bloody Muggle Christmas cartoon on the telly this evening while they made – get this – Christmas biscuits and sweets and the story was now imprinted in his brain, hence the rhyming. It was taken from a story written by a chap called Dr. Seuss (whom, Hermione couldn't wait to inform him, was named neither Seuss nor really a doctor.) Apparently, his real name was Theodore Geisel, and he wrote children's stories about green eggs and ham and Grinches that stole Christmas.

In this story, a fuzzy green creature, who hated Christmas almost as much as Draco hated it, wanted to ruin Christmas for these weird little, dratted things that sang ridiculous little songs. They rather reminded Draco of Gryffindors. Anyway, at the end of the half hour program, la, de, da, the green monster had a heart, loved Christmas, and all was good in the world. The green monster joined hands with the little creatures and they sang of peace on earth, and the monster's heart grew so large that it almost burst out of his chest!

What a load of malarkey. As if that would happen in real life.

At the end of the half hour, Draco had also helped Hermione make six dozen biscuits, without magic, with red and green sugar sprinkles all over them, and she declared them a rip-roaring success. She gave him half, kept the other half, and then as he was leaving his house she handed him an envelope.

"What's this?"

"An invitation to my Christmas Eve party," she said so sweetly, so matter of a fact, that he wanted to throw his tin of biscuits on the floor, and would have, but they were actually very good, and he worked hard on them. He opened the envelope to reveal a handmade, red and green invitation, which invited the bearer to her house for Christmas Eve for an evening of song, food and comfort and joy. He cringed at the thought.

"Listen, Granger," he began, "the last two and a half weeks, I've let you run amuck, decorating my house, just like your house, and I've let you include me in all your little reindeer games, and that's fine, but I am not going to a bloody Christmas Eve party." He balled the invitation into his fist, and threw it on the ground just outside her door. It skipped down the steps and landed in a puddle on the sidewalk.

He heard her gasp, but that didn't stop him from walking out her door, slamming it so hard that her wreath fell off the front, and then stepping over it as it landed on the ground by his feet.

The fact that she gasped gave him pause. Did she gasp in outrage, or was she hurt? Was she angry or had he offended her? Instead of walking off her porch, he pressed his ear up against her door. He waited to see if he could hear her cry. He wondered why he thought him acting like such an arse would make her cry. He also wondered why he cared. There was a time when he would have waited outside her door, in the hopes of hearing her cry. Now he waited in the hopes of NOT hearing her cry. When he didn't hear any tears, he walked down the steps, over the invitation in the puddle, to his house, in the front door, and he sat down on his couch.

Opening the tin of biscuits in his completely dark living room, he reached inside for one of the sugary confections. That was when he noticed that she had given him all of the best ones. They had used tin cutters shaped like gingerbread boys and gingerbread girls, reindeers, Santa-hats, mittens, stars, sleighs, and bells. Quite a few of their earliest biscuits turned out terrible, especially the reindeers and sleighs. Whenever one would turn out misshapen, or would break in two pieces, she would still decorate it, but put it off to the side.

He didn't realize until he was sitting alone in his dark living room that she had kept all the broken, ugly ones for herself and had given him all the pristine, pretty ones. He flicked his wand and turned on his lights, even turning on his tree lights, and he took a bite out of one of the mittens. Why did she have to be such a good person?

It dawned on Draco, as he ate the sweet biscuit, that they had fun tonight. They really did. As with everything regarding this season, he was reluctant to join her when she first invited him to come help her make Christmas cookies, still, she pulled on his arm, smiled sweetly at him, and promised him that it would be fun. And it was, in a way.

As they were rolling out the dough, they were laughing and flour was going absolutely everywhere, but she didn't care, and he didn't either. She even got a speck of flour on her cheek at one point and he pointed at her face and said, "Wait, you have flour, just there."

"Where?" she asked, her hand going to her face, to the wrong place. She laughed and he shook his head no, because she missed it completely.

Without deceit, completely brazen, he swept one arm around her back and brushed the flour away with his little finger, and then he blew on her cheek and said, "All gone now." That was when it hit him. He wanted to kiss her again, just as much as he wanted to kiss her before, more than anything. He had wanted to kiss her for the last two weeks, but especially at that moment.

She looked so surprised, and shocked, and heaven help him, even without being kissed, she LOOKED thoroughly kissed, because her cheeks were tinged pink, her lips open and full, and her eyes wide with wonderment, but before he could find the courage to 'do the deed' she pushed on his chest, flicked flour at him, and that was that.

Yes, he wanted to kiss her. Goodness, he did. He wanted to kiss away that flour, not brush it away with his hand, but the moment passed, and to be truthful, that was why he was angry about the invitation to her party. He didn't want to come to a Christmas Eve party at her house with a bunch of her friends and family. He wanted to come only if it was going to be just her and him.

Earlier that month, when she first suggested that she help him decorate, he was going to say no, but he found that her smile was too beguiling, and he wanted to spend time with her, so he conceded. On December the eighth, she stopped by his house with an armload of decorations declaring that it was the day to decorate the outside of their houses. He hemmed and hawed and complained but finally agreed to help her. They started with the lights on his side. Since they lived in a Muggle neighborhood they couldn't use magic, so they had to climb ladders instead.

Well…he had to climb a ladder.

She had him climb a ladder to the very top, (though it was secured with magic) and he strung the white lights across the front of his house according to her directive. Then he did the same to hers. Next came the garland and bows, which he secured onto each window. Then the wreaths, which he nailed to each door.

She made him hot chocolate after that. She handed him the cup, and stood on the sidewalk and looked up at their houses and hugged herself, a smile on her face. "It's beautiful," said Hermione.

Draco took a sip of his chocolate and placed the mug on his stoop and joined her below. He too looked up and surveyed their joined houses. He had to admit, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Never before had he been allowed to decorate a house. Growing up, his parents always had the Manor decorated by the elves. At school, it was much the same. The past few years, his parents had always gone to the south of France for the holiday, and he saw no need to decorate on his own, so he didn't.

She placed a gloved hand on his arm and asked, "What do you think?"

"It's okay." He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of saying more, even if he did think it was more than all right. He turned to stare of her, and began to study her in earnest. The sky was grey, darkening with the coming twilight. The twinkling lights from the house lit her face with only a partial light, but he could still make out almost all of her features. Her lips were full, round, red, and moving, so she was speaking again, but what was new? She was always speaking. He wondered what they tasted like. She hugged herself closer, causing her breasts to press together, even in her jumper, and he couldn't help but have a quick, lewd thought about her body, though he tried, he really did, to push it aside.

She started walking up his steps and he followed, though he realized that once again he was at a loss, because apparently, she had spoken and made plans, and he had agreed to do something, but he didn't know what. He might have heard the word, 'tree' in there somewhere.

When she started to open his door he asked, "Tree?"

She looked down at him, as he still stood on the steps, and said, "Yes, tree. It's time to decorate your tree, Draco." Then of course, she had to smile at him again.

Somehow, that was what led to them decorating his tree. She had already placed the tree and all the ornaments inside his house. She used magic inside, so it took no time at all to place the tree in the stand, and to unpack all the lights and ornaments and tinsel and such.

Draco sneered as he picked up the silver and green decorations. With a swish of her wand Christmas music began to play and soon she was talking nonstop about the Christmas when she was five and she got her first dollhouse or the Christmas when she was eight and she had the mumps. She would ask him to hand her things; she would have him hold boxes of ornaments while she placed things around the trees, once she moved an ornament that he placed on a low branch because she said his cat might break it, (He rather thought that was the point.) Still, by the end, he found that he was, dared he think it, having fun.

He enjoyed decorating the tree with her. She spoke of memories, and he told her a few of his own. They laughed and he made up naughty lyrics to one of the Christmas tunes and she acted appalled and even blushed.

When they were done, she told him that he had to put the star on the top of the tree. He told her to do it. She said the 'man' had to do it. He told her that she could do anything a man could do. She rolled her eyes and started to use a spell to 'float' the star to the top.

In a bit of daring, Draco took her wand from her and said, "Do it the good old fashion way, Granger, in the spirit of Christmas and all that crap."

She gave him a half grin, pulled a chair from his dining room all the way into his living room, placed it next to the tree, and stood on the edge. Leaning over as far as she could, she stood on the tips of her toes, reached as high as she could, but she still couldn't reach the top of the tree. "Blast it," she said with a huff, "I can't quite make it." She reached even higher, the action causing the hem of her jumper to ride up so that a bit of skin showed around her middle.

He was mesmerized by that skin. Drawing in a breath, Hermione cursed as she started to fall from the chair, which brought Draco's eyes away from her middle, to her body, and he reached out to steady her.

"You aren't very graceful," he said ruefully. "That's twice now that you've almost fallen and I've had to save you." Shocking her, he stepped up on the chair, joining her on the small space, took the silver star from her hand, and reached up easily to the top branch. Placing the star in its place of glory, he remained on the chair to survey the finished product, and without planning, he placed the arm that had held the star around her shoulders. He told himself it was there for two reasons…one – because it had no other place to go…two – to keep her from falling. The truth was he wanted to hold her.

She leaned slightly into him and said, "It looks wonderful, doesn't it. Turn on the lights; you have your wand, don't you?"

He pulled his wand from his pocket, turned off his ceiling light, turned on the lights to the tree, and with Hermione Granger standing on a chair with him beside his tree, he looked at his very first Christmas tree that he had ever had as an adult, that he could call his very own, and he had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that it was a nice tree indeed.

Jumping down from the chair, he held his hand out for her. She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other in his outstretched hand. It surprised him that she took his hand so easily. It surprised him that he offered it as easily as well.

The next day they decorated her tree and it went much the same. Though the rest of her house was already decorated by her friends and her from before, her tree was left bare.

Decorating it with Hermione, they laughed a bit, they teased each other, and when it came time to put her 'gold star' on the mostly 'red and gold' decorated tree, she put the gold star on top by herself, though he placed his hands on her waist to steady her as she did.

Truthfully, he found little reasons to touch her, caress her, flirt with her, and he thought she did the same with him, throughout the entire day. He knew she had no clue how much he desired her, or wanted to kiss her. He knew she had no clue that he was merely putting up with all this Christmas rubbish just to please her, to be near her, to spend time with her.

And then this very evening, while they were making Christmas biscuits, she began to sing, and he found that he didn't mind and that was when he realized something - he could get used to her. He could spend a lifetime with her, and only her. He wanted her, desired her, found her delectable, endearing, but more than that, he wanted to love Christmas because she loved Christmas. He wanted to spend Christmas with her.

And he thought he was going to SPEND CHRISTMAS with her, and only her, when she first mentioned it that evening.

As she took the first batch of biscuits out of the oven she inquired, "What are your plans for Christmas?"

His heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face and voice calm as he said, "No plans, haven't you heard, I hate the season."

"Not going to your parents' house then?" She placed the tray of cookies in front of him and waved the quilted potholder over them to cool them.

"They always go out of the country. Have for years," he answered in clipped tones.

"Ah…well, you'll just have to spend the holiday with me, then, won't you?" she said with a smile. She beamed at him, really, and then took the tray of biscuits he was decorating from him and placed them in the oven.

He tried to focus on the ball of dough on the table in front of him, instead of his unstable breathing. He had a mass of feelings to sort out, and he didn't know how to go about it. She wanted him….Draco Malfoy…her former enemy, a person who used to treat her like scum, to spend the holiday with her. More and more feelings began to crash against his brain until he could no longer think. He sat down and finally said, "Yeah, maybe."

That was why he was shocked, and surprised, and even hurt when she handed him an invitation to a 'party' on Christmas Eve as he was leaving her house. He thought he was special when she first invited him to spend the holiday with her. He thought he was the only one, but no, she was having a bloody party, with probably all her stupid friends invited, and he would just be a nameless face in a crowd of many. There would be nothing special about any of it.

He felt suspended between pleasure and pain, happiness and regret. That was why he threw the invitation in the puddle. That was why he stormed out of her house. That was why he was sitting in his living room, reliving the last month with her, full of agony and ache, full of disappointment, wanting to take back everything that they had done, because he felt like such a fool. It was as if he was like that little green fellow from that cartoon – that Grinch – and she had given him a heart, only to break it in two!

Well, nobody made Draco Malfoy feel like a fool and got away with it! Come Christmas Eve, Hermione Granger would regret including Draco Malfoy in all of her Christmas plans this year! All of her jolliness and happiness and Christmas – ho – ho – ho was about to end, because Draco Malfoy had a plan…just like that little green fellow from that cartoon. Draco Malfoy would STEAL CHRISTMAS from her this year!


	3. Chapter 3

**All characters belong to JK Rowlings...but I would also like to thank Dr Seuss for inspiration, but of course!**

**Three –**

Draco Malfoy was filled with glee. Glee, glee, glee, glee, glee, glee, glee! It wasn't Christmas induced glee, but EVIL induced glee. In his evil glee-induced haze, he even rubbed his hands together, 'gleefully', or rather, 'evilly', and snickered. He looked down at Draco Malfoy 'The Second', his large white Siamese, as they stood on their side of the fence that separated his back garden from Hermione's and said, "I can't wait for her to come home tonight and see what's left of her Christmas!"

He snickered some more, did a little dance, and said, "And when she finds out that none of her little friends are coming to her little Christmas Eve party, she'll cry fat old tears, boo-hoo, hoo, hoo!" He picked up his kitty, to give him an evil squeeze, but the large white cat hissed at Draco for the first time ever, so Draco dropped the ugly beast and hissed back at him.

"Fine, you ingrate!" he spat, "see if I ever include you in my evil plans again!" Draco walked back over to the fence and climbed up on a bench that was beside it so that he could stare inside her mostly dark house. The invitation to her party said to arrive at 7:00 pm. It was still only shortly after 6:00. Draco had no clue where she might be, because he figured she would be home, finishing last minute details, but the fact that she wasn't home meant that his plans would go that much smoother.

All last night, after he left her house, he tried to think of ways to ruin her Christmas, since in his mind, she had ruined his. Really, she hadn't ruined his as much as she had made him look forward to it for the first time in his life only to pull the rug out from under him by telling him…'you aren't any more important than the rest of my friends' when the truth was Draco Malfoy was the most important person in Draco Malfoy's world, so he rightfully should be the most important person in HER world as well.

Because truth be known, Hermione Granger had become one of the most important people in Draco Malfoy's life, although he would make her rue the day that happened.

Therefore, last night, instead of sleeping, he formulated a plan, inspired by that little Dr. Suess story she forced him to watch. Just like the Grinch, he would ruin Christmas for her and her friends, but unlike that weird fuzzy, green fellow, he wouldn't reconsider and return all the Christmas finery to them later. NO! He wouldn't! His heart wouldn't feel remorseful, or be filled with regret, and most of all, his heart wouldn't grow larger, besides, Draco was almost certain that if that happened in true life that would be unhealthy, and cause for concern.

The first part of plan was to get rid of Granger for a while. That was easy. He sent a fake Owl to her, supposedly from her stupid employer, telling her that she was needed for an emergency meeting. He knew she took her job seriously, so even though it was Christmas Eve, and she had a big party to plan, with loads of people coming, she would go into work, even if it were only for a meeting.

Of course, once she got to St. Mungo's she would discover there was no meeting, but that didn't matter. Draco didn't need much time to ruin Christmas.

The second party of his plan was so easy a child could have doneit. He didn't know who was invited to her party. He had no clue how many invitations went out, so for a moment he ruminated on how in the world he could keep the revelers from coming to her house. Then he got an idea, a perfectly dastardly idea. He laughed so hard when he thought of it, he almost snorted.

Since a common wall connected his house to hers, it essentially made it 'part' of his house, so he put a Fidelus Charm on his house, making only him and Hermione, (although unbeknownst to her), Secret Keepers. When her little friends showed up tonight for her party, they would search high and low for her house, and even if they had been there before, they wouldn't be able to find it, because Draco hadn't given them permission to enter.

He only wished he could have a camera to take pictures of all of the little fools wandering around outside, looking for a house that was right in front of their noses! Oh, wouldn't Granger be so sad when no one showed up to her party!

At first, that was all he was going to do, but then he remembered how much fun the old Grinchy had when he was annihilating the little 'Who's' houses. Frankly, Draco was so sexually frustrated that he would find it both a 'comfort' and a 'joy' to destroy every last piece of tinsel and ivy inside her house, and outside as well.

Staring at her house from his perch on the bench by their back fence, he ascertained that she was still away at her 'fake' meeting, so he Apparated to her back Garden and easily opened her back door with a simple "Alohamora" spell. Didn't the woman believe in wards? Didn't she know she had evil neighbors running amuck, with plans to ruin her Christmas?

He walked into her backdoor and looked around her kitchen. She had a turkey in the oven, and pots with all sorts of food on the stove. Everything smelled heavenly. She even made his favourite dish…candied yams, the little witch. The first thing he did was blast each pot and pan to smithereens! He opened the oven, used his wand to levitate the turkey right out the backdoor, over the fence, and shouted, "Hey, Second, come get your dinner, you mangy cat!"

After the dinner was obliterated, including two pies and the rest of the holiday biscuits, Draco walked into the dining room. There was holly, berries, and an elaborate centerpiece on the sideboard, with a bottle of wine chilling in a cooler beside it. Oddly enough, the table, with candles, white linens, and springs of greenery, was only set for two. Draco didn't give that a thought as he swished his wand this way and that and destroyed the beautifully set table.

Next, he walked down the hallway to the living room. The first thing he saw was a tiny sprig of mistletoe hanging over his head. He growled, grabbed it, and stuffed it in his pocket, imaging another man kissing HER on her red, full lips, with her soft, brown curls caught in another man's fingers, and the press of another man's body against those soft curves of hers. Frowning, he stepped the rest of the way down into the elaborately decorated living room.

Her tree was lit up like a Roman candle and under her tree was at least twenty presents. "Humph! Looks like someone was nice and not naughty this year!" he snapped to himself. "All I wanted for Christmas this year was her!" he admitted aloud, "and I got nothing, and look at all the things she got!"

Before tackling the presents, he used his wand to destroy her tree. Pointing at different ornament, he smashed them to pieces even as he would say, "Aren't you the little glass bulb she said her parents got for their twentieth anniversary?" Destroying another, he would say, "You're the stupid one she made when she was eight!" He did that with them all, recalling things she said as they decorated her tree. By the end, he didn't feel as happy as he thought he would. Instead, he felt slightly overwhelmed and dare he think it, a bit ashamed.

He kicked a rather large present, not even bothering to see who it was from or to, and said, "Someone's mummy and daddy must love her a lot. Look at all these presents! My parents cannot even be bothered to send me anything personal! Every Christmas I get a big fat transfer to my vault at Gringotts. How cozy is that?"

He kicked a few other presents, before eradicating them with a swish of his wand. They disappeared in a puff of smoke, but he left behind the trappings…the ribbons, the bows, the wrappings, the papers and strings. He did this to make it look as if some random Muggle had broken in and ruined her Christmas. He didn't want her to know it was he…even though that was his original intent. Suddenly, he didn't want her to know he was hateful and small minded enough, let alone immature or evil enough, to do this to her.

Even though apparently, he was, because he did.

But, wait.

Why not? Wasn't that rather the point?

He sighed. Suddenly, he wasn't having the fun he thought he would have. He looked at her stocking over the fireplace and cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth, and turned his head slightly when he noticed a second stocking next to hers. Rather loudly, he said, "OH SHITE!" Next to her stocking was one with his name upon it.

He walked up to the stocking and pulled it down from the mantel to examine it. Etched in gold thread was his name. When had she put this here? It wasn't here last night, when they made biscuits together. He thought back to the dining room – two place settings – only two, with two wine glasses, two plates, two salad bowls. He swallowed hard and turned around to survey the room.

A foreign feeling washed over him, along with a heavy, crushing feeling in his chest. He kicked at some of the ruined wrapping paper on the floor and looked closely at the name on a partially ripped tag. He bent down, picked it up, and blinked twice before he read the tag aloud. "To Draco, Love Hermione. Happy Christmas."

"To Draco, Love Hermione?" he asked himself in a whisper and then louder than before he said, "OH SHITE!"

He dropped the tag to the floor and looked at the ruined room around him and for the very first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt remorse. He felt mortified. He felt…well, he felt. Unlike the Grinch, whose heart grew larger, Draco's heart was shriveling up in his chest and was on the brink of disappearing completely.

Draco sat down among the mess of her living room and he felt overwhelmed, ashamed, sad, remorseful, guilty, angry, embarrassed, but most of all, he felt like crying. The last time he cried was…well, last night, when he thought he was falling in love with someone who didn't love him.

Yes, after he left her house last night, Draco Malfoy, the former Death Eater, the man who forever acted as if he felt nothing, cried. When he was all alone in his house, he cried, because he knew he had fallen in love with Hermione Granger, and he assumed that she didn't love him in return, (that she COULD'NT love him in return) because he wasn't worth loving, he wasn't loveable, and he wasn't a man of worth, and he didn't know what to do about it. In addition, he knew he would probably do something to ruin it…to make her hate him…and he had.

He heard her at her front door and he froze in fear and anguish, then he did what he always did best. He ran. He Disapparated away, rather than face her, rather than face what he had done.

Once inside his house, the feelings of sorrow and guilt were so prevailing and crushing that they washed over him like a steamroller, and in a sense of panic, he ran from room to room, hands over his face, tears in his eyes, calling himself every bad name he could think of, and yet nothing made him feel better. Nothing made it right.

He looked at his own tree – the tree she gave him, and he pulled out his wand to destroy it too, but he couldn't. His hand shook, and then his whole body joined in, before he crumbled to the floor. He couldn't do it. He couldn't destroy it, because he had to give it to her. He had to. He had to give her back her Christmas, somehow.

Eyes closed, sitting on his floor, tears at the ready, Number Two rubbing against his arm, Draco rocked back and forth. He could only imagine the horror she was seeing at that moment. She must have already discovered that her precious ornaments were broken and destroyed, that her tree was nothing short of kindling and that her presents were akin to a pile of rubbish. Perhaps she hadn't yet walked into her dining room or kitchen, but soon she would. She would discover that her hard work was for not, that her Christmas feast was gone.

He stopped rocking, and caught his breath, stopped the sob that was wretched in his throat, to stop to listen if he could hear her cries. If she cried, he might die, he might truly, truly die. He looked down at his cat and said, "Please, don't let her cry. Anything but that. I'll make it all up to her. I swear it. I'll be a bloody better person, somehow, but just don't let her cry!"

He crawled over to his foyer, to the shared wall, and pressed his ear upon it, to listen. He didn't hear tears. He heard something else, entirely. He heard singing. He heard Christmas music. He heard a Christmas song. He hadn't ruined her Christmas after all. He had wanted to at first, but he hadn't, and he was glad.

He used his wand to say a spell so that he could hear better, and he listened closer.

He heard a lilting voice, but he wasn't sure it was she, but the singing was beautiful, as was the song and the sentiment.

"…_you can count on me…please have snow, and mistletoe, and presents on the tree. Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light gleams, I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams."_

Draco felt something wet hit his hand. It was a tear. From him. He wiped it away and stood up. He looked down at his kitty and pronounced, "I'll be back after I apologize to Granger, if she doesn't kill me, but chances are that she will. If she does, have a Happy Christmas, Draco Malfoy the Second."

Pocketing his wand, he walked out his door, over to hers, and knocked. She opened it after a moment. He could tell that she _had_ been crying, because her eyes were red and she had wiped a tear away just as she opened the door. He blinked away the last of his own tears, but before he could say a thing to her, she fell into his arms.

"Oh, Draco, it's so terrible!" She began to cry in earnest.

"I know. I know," he agreed. He patted her back, standing in her doorway. He couldn't make out a thing in the dark room in front of them, but he could still hear the music from before. He had assumed the singing was from her, because it sounded like her voice, but apparently, it wasn't.

She took his hand, and pulled him into the room, leading him around broken bulbs, destroyed boxes, and bits and pieces of decorations everywhere. He didn't know what to say, but before he could say a thing, she led him to the couch, sat down, pulled him down to sit beside her, and then she lifted a remote control and leveled it toward a television on the wall. She turned up the volume, but didn't say a word.

Staring at the screen, she began to cry again. She kept his arm in her hands, holding on for dear life, and she even placed her head upon his shoulder. He stared at the scene on the telly and finally figured out that they were watching one of those Muggle DVD movies or something.

Wait…it wasn't a DVD. It was Granger…she was on that screen, and so was a woman who looked an awful lot like her and a man, whom called the Hermione on the screen 'pumpkin'. Draco watched the screen, and then turned to look back at her, before he once again looked at the screen.

The picture before him was of Hermione, looking much as she looked now, and she was singing and playing the piano. Her voice sounded glorious. It was clear, vibrant, and full of promise. A man and woman stood around the piano and they beamed at her with pride and love in their eyes.

Draco and Hermione continued to watch the scene on the television in companion silence, save for an occasion hiccup of sobs from her, and a deep sigh from him. They were watching a Christmas Eve celebration, an intimate familial moment, between her and her parents. Draco watched in rapt silence as her parents and her opened presents, joked, laughed, sang, drank eggnog, and recounted stories of Christmases long ago.

When the screen went blank, she leveled the remote toward the flat screen and hit the off bottom. Cuddling closer to him on the couch, amongst the ruined remains of her Christmas, she said, "That was the last Christmas we had together. It was last year. Mum died this past March. She was already very sick at Christmas, with breast cancer. My dad died right before I moved here, last summer, a few months after Mum. It was quite suddenly, a heart attack."

Draco's heart broke completely with a final thud and he knew if he opened his mouth, he would cry right along with her. She looked up at him and said, "That's why this Christmas was so hard for me. That's why I didn't want to be alone this year, and why it was so important for me to try to include you in all my plans. Remember when I told you that it was my first Christmas without them…my first Christmas alone?"

Draco's mind went back to the conversation they had when she first mentioned Christmas, the day she wore the pretty red hat and scarf, and he barely paid any attention to her conversation, yet now that he thought of it, yes…he remembered her mentioning it. He looked down at her, saw her eyes full of tears, cupped her face with his hand, and with his thumb, he brushed away a few tears.

"I'm sorry," he said. And he meant it.

"Why, Draco? Why?" she asked him.

What could he say? He framed her face with his other hand and said, "I've been alone, in many ways, for most of my life. My exile was self-imposed. I've been afraid to let anyone close. I've been afraid of rejection. I've acted haughty and superior, when in reality I've always felt the complete opposite."

She turned on the couch slightly, to face him. She placed her hands on his wrists, as he slipped his hands from her face, to her neck, to her shoulders. "I've always acted as if I'm better than you and your kind, Granger, but in that little hollow place in my chest where most people have a heart, I've always known, secretly, that you're better than me. You are. You have a soul. You have a heart that's capable of loving, and forgiving, and growing and giving."

She reached up and stroked his face, slowly with one finger, then cupped his cheek. He closed her eyes, and let her warmth give him courage to continue. "I've been cold so long. I've played the part of the spoiled brat, the bad seed, the man without feeling, because that's comes easily for me. I don't know how to be the good man. I don't know how to feel joy and happiness, because frankly, those feelings are foreign to me."

Suddenly overwhelmed again, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her to him, crushing her to his chest. His arms went around her and he said, "I wanted it to just be you and me for Christmas, but somehow, I thought you wouldn't want that, and I assumed you were having all your friends about, not just me, and that hurt me. I thought my feelings for you were one sided, so I was going to hurt you before you hurt me."

He stroked her hair, as she rested her cheek against his chest. Finally, she spoke. "Did it make you feel better to destroy my things?"

"No, not at all. Well…in the beginning, I felt a certain sort of evil glee, but it disappeared fairly early in the game." He gazed down at her and smiled. She smiled back up at him.

Taking his hand into hers, she leaned back against the couch, and studied his palm before kissing the center. He felt that one action absolved him of all his sins. "This wasn't easy for me, either. I didn't know if you would accept me," she began. "You've always acted so hateful toward me, and you've made your feelings toward Mudbloods very clear."

He opened his mouth to protest, especially the use of that word, but she hushed him and continued. "No, let me finish," she chastised, placing one finger on his lips. He brought his hand up to hers, kissed that finger, and then held onto her hand. Smiling, she continued, "I knew I had to act brazen, and ignore your initial complaints, and I told myself that even if he insist until Christmas Eve that he hates Christmas, keep muddling through, Hermione, because he's worth it. Make him see that he's worth it. You are, you know, Draco. You're worth it."

"I'm not, though," he protested, dropping her hand, standing, and looking around the room. "Look at what I've done. I've ruined Christmas!"

She stood as well, and with a rather dour smile she said, "Yes, you're the Malfoy who stole Christmas, but that's okay, because I can put everything to rights, if you want me to, that is. I don't want to be alone this Christmas, Draco, but I also don't want to spend it with just anyone. I have lots of friends, and extended family I could spend it with, if I wanted to, but I want to spend it with you, if you want to spend it with me."

"A bit ineloquently put, for a woman who usually has a way with words, but yes, I want to spend Christmas with you. Hell, Granger, all I want for Christmas is you, you daft thing! I'll put everything to rights, Granger, not you, but there's one thing you can do for me, if you would," he requested.

She nodded.

He pulled the sprig of mistletoe out from his shirt pocket and held it high above his head. "I've been dreaming of kissing you for months now. Will you get your arse over here, kiss me, and then we can have the best Christmas ever?"

"My pleasure, Malfoy," she answered with a smile.

Draco held the mistletoe in one hand and cradled her jaw with the other, his thumb resting on her cheek. He rubbed it back and forth, even as his face came ever closer to hers.

At that moment, he knew he had a heart, because it was thumping so loudly in his chest and his ears that he thought it might explode. His hand moved from her jaw to the back of her head, and the hand with the mistletoe moved to circle her back, drawing her closer. Placing both her hands upon his chest, he was certain that she could feel the thumping of his heart, because the blood was racing throughout his body, causing his senses to crash together like an orchestra that was fine-tuning their instruments before a great concerto was to begin.

He knew the contours of her body would fit perfectly next to his. He knew her hair would be soft and that her body would smell perfect and that her eyes would dance and her breath would be sweet. The power of her body overwhelmed him even before he started to kiss her. Finally, he lowered his mouth to hers, and she relaxed into it, and it was heavenly, it was his every Christmas wish multiplied by a thousand!

His lips moved from hers to roam her cheeks, her previously wet eyes, her perfect eyebrows, her hair and her neck. She clutched at his shoulders before finally throwing her hands around his neck. Bringing her closer still, until she was on tiptoes, he placed his mouth back on hers, urged it open, and placed the tip of his tongue on hers.

Something awoke in him. A need, an urgency, but also, a long dormant emotion that had nothing to do with selfishness, egotism, self-centerness, or any of the other petty little emotions that usually described his persona non grata. He was filled with the urge to keep her in his arms, afraid if he let her go, she might disappear forever, but also realizing, finally, that she could make him a better man, if he let her.

He also became aware that for the first time ever, he got the perfect gift for Christmas! She was the right colour, the perfect fit, and he would never have to give her back! Likewise, she was worth her weight in gold – also a bonus!

Releasing her was the second hardest thing he had ever done, but he did. The first hardest thing he had ever done was destroying her house and belongings, but he was going to right that wrong. Staring at her eyes, and her swollen lips (made that way from his kiss, thank you very much) he swore that he would make this Christmas good for her. He couldn't make it the best one ever, because her parents were gone, but he could make it better than it presently was.

"Will you do me a favour?" he asked, holding her hands, bringing one to his mouth to kiss, then the other.

"What?"

"Will you go over to my house for about an hour? Check on my cat, Draco Malfoy the Second, and well, I don't know, perhaps busy yourself by snooping in my things or something. I have a lot of work to do here, and I really need to do it myself."

She smiled and nodded. "I will, on one condition," she agreed. He raised his eyebrows as an indication for her to continue. "We simply have to rename your cat. I can't continue to call it 'Draco Malfoy the Second'. I just can't."

He laughed, hugged her, and said, "Fine, fine, he seems to hate that name anyway. Let's call him the Grinch. I feel a real affinity for the little green fellow now, so it will be just like naming him after me." She smiled again. He loved it when she smiled. He pulled her to him and repeated, "I'm sorry about Christmas."

"It's okay. You said you'll make it right, so that's all I need," she said back, "although you won't really be able to do anything about dinner or the presents, but I would like it if you could clean the place up and fix my ornaments. Still, I had some pretty amazing presents under that tree for you."

"Listen, if nothing else, I have a tin of perfect biscuits at my house we can eat for Christmas Eve dinner," he joked. "And frankly, all my life, I've been given THINGS, everything I've ever wanted, and nothing ever made me happy, until you." He pulled her close to him again, kissed one cheek, then the other, and admitted, "I don't want pretty presents all wrapped up in bows and pretty trappings. All I want for Christmas is you, Granger. That's all I need. We may be a strange pair, but I don't care, because all I want is you, and frankly, I always get what I want for Christmas."

He winked at her and added, "Be off now, like a good girl, so I can fix up your tree and house." He patted her on the behind and headed her toward the door. When she reached it he ended with, "Oh, and Happy Christmas, Hermione. I love you. Thank you for giving me the best Christmas present ever."

Beaming back at him, she returned, "And I love you too, even if you did try to steal Christmas from me, you Grinch you."

The End


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